farther side. Stanley Hopkins drew the key from his pocket,and had stooped to the lock, when he paused with a look ofattention and surprise upon his face.

"Someone has been tampering with it," he said.

There could be no doubt of the fact. The woodwork was cut andthe scratches showed white through the paint, as if they hadbeen that instant done. Holmes had been examining the window.

"Someone has tried to force this also. Whoever it was has failedto make his way in. He must have been a very poor burglar."

"This is a most extraordinary thing," said the inspector;"I could swear that these marks were not here yesterday evening."

"Some curious person from the village, perhaps," I suggested.

"Very unlikely. Few of them would dare to set foot in thegrounds, far less try to force their way into the cabin. What do you think of it, Mr. Holmes?"

"I think that fortune is very kind to us."

"You mean that the person will come again?"

"It is very probable. He came expecting to find the door open. He tried to get in with the blade of a very small penknife. He could not manage it. What would he do?"

"Come again next night with a more useful tool."

"So I should say. It will be our fault if we are not thereto receive him. Meanwhile, let me see the inside of the cabin."

The traces of the tragedy had been removed, but the furniturewithin the little room still stood as it had been on the nightof the crime. For two hours, with most intense concentration,Holmes examined every object in turn, but his face showed thathis quest was not a successful one. Once only he paused in hispatient investigation.

"Have you taken anything off this shelf, Hopkins?"

"No; I have moved nothing."

"Something has been taken. There is less dust in this corner ofthe shelf than elsewhere. It may have been a book lying on itsside. It may have been a box. Well, well, I can do nothingmore. Let us walk in these beautiful woods, Watson, and give afew hours to the birds and the flowers. We shall meet you herelater, Hopkins, and see if we can come to closer quarters withthe gentleman who has paid this visit in the night."

It was past eleven o'clock when we formed our little ambuscade. Hopkins was for leaving the door of the hut open, but Holmeswas of the opinion that this would rouse the suspicions of thestranger. The lock was a perfectly simple one, and only astrong blade was needed to push it back. Holmes also suggestedthat we should wait, not inside the hut, but outside it amongthe bushes which grew round the farther window. In this way weshould be able to watch our man if he struck a light, and seewhat his object was in this stealthy nocturnal visit.

It was a long and melancholy vigil, and yet brought with itsomething of the thrill which the hunter feels when he liesbeside the water pool and waits for the coming of the thirstybeast of prey. What savage creature was it which might stealupon us out of the darkness? Was it a fierce tiger of crime,which could only be taken fighting hard with flashing fang andclaw, or would it prove to be some skulking jackal, dangerousonly to the weak and unguarded?

In absolute silence we crouched amongst the bushes, waitingfor whatever might come. At first the steps of a few belatedvillagers, or the sound of voices from the village, lightenedour vigil; but one by one these interruptions died away and anabsolute stillness fell upon us, save for the chimes of thedistant church, which told us of the progress of the night,and for the rustle and whisper of a fine rain falling amid thefoliage which roofed us in.

Half-past two had chimed, and it was the darkest hour whichprecedes the dawn, when we all started as a low but sharp clickcame from the direction of the gate. Someone had entered thedrive. Again there was a long silence, and I had begun to fearthat it was a false alarm, when a stealthy step was heard uponthe other side of the hut, and a moment later a metallicscraping and clinking. The man was trying to force the lock! This time his skill was greater or his tool was better,for there was a sudden snap and the creak of the hinges. Then a match was struck, and next instant the steady light froma candle filled the interior of the hut. Through the gauzecurtain our eyes were all riveted upon the scene within.

The nocturnal visitor was a young man, frail and thin, with ablack moustache which intensified the deadly pallor of his face. He could not have been much above twenty years of age. I havenever seen any human being who appeared to be in such a pitiablefright, for his teeth were visibly chattering and he was shakingin every limb. He was dressed like a gentleman, in Norfolkjacket and knickerbockers, with a cloth cap upon his head. We watched him staring round with frightened eyes. Then he laidthe candle-end upon the table and disappeared from our view intoone of the corners. He returned with a large book, one of thelog-books which formed a line upon the shelves. Leaning on thetable he rapidly turned over the leaves of this volume until hecame to the entry which he sought. Then, with an angry gestureof his clenched hand, he closed the book, replaced it in thecorner, and put out the light. He had hardly turned to leavethe hut when Hopkins's hand was on the fellow's collar, and Iheard his loud gasp of terror as he understood that he wastaken. The candle was re-lit, and there was our wretchedcaptive shivering and cowering in the grasp of the detective. He sank down upon the sea-chest, and looked helplessly from oneof us to the other.

"Now, my fine fellow," said Stanley Hopkins, "who are you,and what do you want here?"

The man pulled himself together and faced us with an effortat self-composure.

"You are detectives, I suppose?" said he. "You imagine I amconnected with the death of Captain Peter Carey. I assure youthat I am innocent."

"We'll see about that," said Hopkins. "First of all, what is your name?"

"It is John Hopley Neligan."

I saw Holmes and Hopkins exchange a quick glance.

"What are you doing here?"

"Can I speak confidentially?"

"No, certainly not."

"Why should I tell you?"

"If you have no answer it may go badly with you at the trial."

The young man winced.

"Well, I will tell you," he said. "Why should I not? And yetI hate to think of this old scandal gaining a new lease of life.Did you ever hear of Dawson and Neligan?"

I could see from Hopkins's face that he never had; but Holmeswas keenly interested.

"You mean the West-country bankers," said he. "They failedfor a million, ruined half the county families of Cornwall,and Neligan disappeared."

"Exactly. Neligan was my father."

At last we were getting something positive, and yet it seemeda long gap between an absconding banker and Captain Peter Careypinned against the wall with one of his own harpoons. We alllistened intently to the young man's words.

"It was my father who was really concerned. Dawson had retired. I was only ten years of age at the time, but I was old enough tofeel the shame and horror of it all. It has always been saidthat my father stole all the securities and fled. It is nottrue. It was his belief that if he were given time in which torealize them all would be well and every creditor paid in full. He started in his little yacht for Norway just before thewarrant was issued for his arrest. I can remember that lastnight when he bade farewell to my mother. He left us a list ofthe securities he was taking, and he swore that he would comeback with his honour cleared, and that none who had trusted himwould suffer. Well, no word was ever heard from him again. Both the yacht and he vanished utterly. We believed, my motherand I, that he and it, with the securities that he had takenwith him, were at the bottom of the sea. We had a faithfulfriend, however, who is a business man, and it was he whodiscovered some time ago that some of the securities which myfather had with him have reappeared on the London market. You can imagine our amazement. I spent months in trying totrace them, and at last, after many doublings and difficulties,I discovered that the original seller had been Captain PeterCarey, the owner of this hut.

"Naturally, I made some inquiries about the man. I found thathe had been in command of a whaler which was due to return fromthe Arctic seas at the very time when my father was crossing toNorway. The autumn of that year was a stormy one, and there wasa long succession of southerly gales. My father's yacht maywell have been blown to the north, and there met by CaptainPeter Carey's ship. If that were so, what had become of myfather? In any case, if I could prove from Peter Carey'sevidence how these securities came on the market it would be aproof that my father had not sold them, and that he had no viewto personal profit when he took them.

"I came down to Sussex with the intention of seeing the captain,but it was at this moment that his terrible death occurred. I read at the inquest a description of his cabin, in which itstated that the old log-books of his vessel were preserved in it. It struck me that if I could see what occurred in the monthof August, 1883, on board the SEA UNICORN, I might settle themystery of my father's fate. I tried last night to get at theselog-books, but was unable to open the door. To-night I triedagain, and succeeded; but I find that the pages which deal withthat month have been torn from the book. It was at that momentI found myself a prisoner in your hands."

"Is that all?" asked Hopkins.

"Yes, that is all." His eyes shifted as he said it.

"You have nothing else to tell us?"

He hesitated.

"No; there is nothing."

"You have not been here before last night?"

"No."

"Then how do you account for THAT?" cried Hopkins, as he held upthe damning note-book, with the initials of our prisoner on thefirst leaf and the blood-stain on the cover.

The wretched man collapsed. He sank his face in his hands andtrembled all over.

"Where did you get it?" he groaned. "I did not know. I thought I had lost it at the hotel."

"That is enough," said Hopkins, sternly. "Whatever else youhave to say you must say in court. You will walk down with menow to the police-station. Well, Mr. Holmes, I am very muchobliged to you and to your friend for coming down to help me. As it turns out your presence was unnecessary, and I would havebrought the case to this successful issue without you; but nonethe less I am very grateful. Rooms have been reserved for youat the Brambletye Hotel, so we can all walk down to the villagetogether."

"Well, Watson, what do you think of it?" asked Holmes,as we travelled back next morning.

"I can see that you are not satisfied."

"Oh, yes, my dear Watson, I am perfectly satisfied. At the sametime Stanley Hopkins's methods do not commend themselves to me. I am disappointed in Stanley Hopkins. I had hoped for betterthings from him. One should always look for a possiblealternative and provide against it. It is the first rule ofcriminal investigation."

"What, then, is the alternative?"

"The line of investigation which I have myself been pursuing. It may give us nothing. I cannot tell. But at least I shallfollow it to the end."

Several letters were waiting for Holmes at Baker Street. He snatched one of them up, opened it, and burst out intoa triumphant chuckle of laughter.

"Excellent, Watson. The alternative develops. Have youtelegraph forms? Just write a couple of messages for me: `Sumner, Shipping Agent, Ratcliff Highway. Send three men on,to arrive ten to-morrow morning. -- Basil.' That's my name inthose parts. The other is: `Inspector Stanley Hopkins, 46,Lord Street, Brixton. Come breakfast to-morrow at nine-thirty. Important. Wire if unable to come. -- Sherlock Holmes.' There, Watson, this infernal case has haunted me for ten days. I hereby banish it completely from my presence. To-morrowI trust that we shall hear the last of it for ever."

Sharp at the hour named Inspector Stanley Hopkins appeared,and we sat down together to the excellent breakfast whichMrs. Hudson had prepared. The young detective was in highspirits at his success.

"You really think that your solution must be correct?" asked Holmes.

"I could not imagine a more complete case."

"It did not seem to me conclusive."

"You astonish me, Mr. Holmes. What more could one ask for?"

"Does your explanation cover every point?"

"Undoubtedly. I find that young Neligan arrived at theBrambletye Hotel on the very day of the crime. He came onthe pretence of playing golf. His room was on the ground-floor,and he could get out when he liked. That very night he went downto Woodman's Lee, saw Peter Carey at the hut, quarrelled with him,and killed him with the harpoon. Then, horrified by what he haddone, he fled out of the hut, dropping the note-book which hehad brought with him in order to question Peter Carey aboutthese different securities. You may have observed that some ofthem were marked with ticks, and the others -- the greatmajority -- were not. Those which are ticked have been tracedon the London market; but the others presumably were still inthe possession of Carey, and young Neligan, according to his ownaccount, was anxious to recover them in order to do the rightthing by his father's creditors. After his flight he did notdare to approach the hut again for some time; but at last heforced himself to do so in order to obtain the informationwhich he needed. Surely that is all simple and obvious?"

Holmes smiled and shook his head.

"It seems to me to have only one drawback, Hopkins, and thatis that it is intrinsically impossible. Have you tried to drivea harpoon through a body? No? Tut, tut, my dear sir, you mustreally pay attention to these details. My friend Watson couldtell you that I spent a whole morning in that exercise. It is no easy matter, and requires a strong and practised arm. But this blow was delivered with such violence that the head ofthe weapon sank deep into the wall. Do you imagine that thisanaemic youth was capable of so frightful an assault? Is he theman who hobnobbed in rum and water with Black Peter in the deadof the night? Was it his profile that was seen on the blind twonights before? No, no, Hopkins; it is another and a moreformidable person for whom we must seek."

The detective's face had grown longer and longer during Holmes'sspeech. His hopes and his ambitions were all crumbling about him. But he would not abandon his position without a struggle.

"You can't deny that Neligan was present that night, Mr. Holmes. The book will prove that. I fancy that I have evidence enoughto satisfy a jury, even if you are able to pick a hole in it. Besides, Mr. Holmes, I have laid my hand upon MY man. As tothis terrible person of yours, where is he?"

"I rather fancy that he is on the stair," said Holmes, serenely. "I think, Watson, that you would do well to put that revolverwhere you can reach it." He rose, and laid a written paperupon a side-table. "Now we are ready," said he.

There had been some talking in gruff voices outside, and nowMrs. Hudson opened the door to say that there were three meninquiring for Captain Basil.

"Show them in one by one," said Holmes.

The first who entered was a little ribston-pippin of a man,with ruddy cheeks and fluffy white side-whiskers. Holmes haddrawn a letter from his pocket.

"What name?" he asked.

"James Lancaster."

"I am sorry, Lancaster, but the berth is full. Here is half asovereign for your trouble. Just step into this room and waitthere for a few minutes."

The second man was a long, dried-up creature, with lank hair andsallow cheeks. His name was Hugh Pattins. He also received hisdismissal, his half-sovereign, and the order to wait.

The third applicant was a man of remarkable appearance. A fierce bull-dog face was framed in a tangle of hair and beard,and two bold dark eyes gleamed behind the cover of thick, tufted,overhung eyebrows. He saluted and stood sailor-fashion, turninghis cap round in his hands.

"Your name?" asked Holmes.

"Patrick Cairns."

"Harpooner?"

"Yes, sir. Twenty-six voyages."

"Dundee, I suppose?"

"Yes, sir."

"And ready to start with an exploring ship?"

"Yes, sir."

"What wages?"

"Eight pounds a month."

"Could you start at once?"

"As soon as I get my kit."

"Have you your papers?"

"Yes, sir." He took a sheaf of worn and greasy forms fromhis pocket. Holmes glanced over them and returned them.

"You are just the man I want," said he. "Here's the agreementon the side-table. If you sign it the whole matter will be settled."

The seaman lurched across the room and took up the pen.

"Shall I sign here?" he asked, stooping over the table.

Holmes leaned over his shoulder and passed both hands over his neck.

"This will do," said he.

I heard a click of steel and a bellow like an enraged bull. The next instant Holmes and the seaman were rolling on theground together. He was a man of such gigantic strength that,even with the handcuffs which Holmes had so deftly fastened uponhis wrists, he would have very quickly overpowered my friend hadHopkins and I not rushed to his rescue. Only when I pressed thecold muzzle of the revolver to his temple did he at lastunderstand that resistance was vain. We lashed his ankles withcord and rose breathless from the struggle.

"I must really apologize, Hopkins," said Sherlock Holmes;"I fear that the scrambled eggs are cold. However, you willenjoy the rest of your breakfast all the better, will you not,for the thought that you have brought your case to a triumphantconclusion."

Stanley Hopkins was speechless with amazement.

"I don't know what to say, Mr. Holmes," he blurted out at last,with a very red face. "It seems to me that I have been makinga fool of myself from the beginning. I understand now, what Ishould never have forgotten, that I am the pupil and you are themaster. Even now I see what you have done, but I don't know howyou did it, or what it signifies."

"Well, well," said Holmes, good-humouredly. "We all learn byexperience, and your lesson this time is that you should neverlose sight of the alternative. You were so absorbed in youngNeligan that you could not spare a thought to Patrick Cairns,the true murderer of Peter Carey."

The hoarse voice of the seaman broke in on our conversation.

"See here, mister," said he, "I make no complaint ofbeing man-handled in this fashion, but I would have you callthings by their right names. You say I murdered Peter Carey;I say I KILLED Peter Carey, and there's all the difference. Maybe you don't believe what I say. Maybe you think I am justslinging you a yarn."

"Not at all," said Holmes. "Let us hear what you have to say."

"It's soon told, and, by the Lord, every word of it is truth. I knew Black Peter, and when he pulled out his knife I whippeda harpoon through him sharp, for I knew that it was him or me. That's how he died. You can call it murder. Anyhow, I'd assoon die with a rope round my neck as with Black Peter's knifein my heart."

"How came you there?" asked Holmes.

"I'll tell it you from the beginning. Just sit me up a littleso as I can speak easy. It was in '83 that it happened --August of that year. Peter Carey was master of the SEA UNICORN,and I was spare harpooner. We were coming out of the ice-packon our way home, with head winds and a week's southerly gale,when we picked up a little craft that had been blown north. There was one man on her -- a landsman. The crew had thoughtshe would founder, and had made for the Norwegian coast in thedinghy. I guess they were all drowned. Well, we took him onboard, this man, and he and the skipper had some long talks inthe cabin. All the baggage we took off with him was one tin box. So far as I know, the man's name was never mentioned, and on thesecond night he disappeared as if he had never been. It wasgiven out that he had either thrown himself overboard or fallenoverboard in the heavy weather that we were having. Only oneman knew what had happened to him, and that was me, for with myown eyes I saw the skipper tip up his heels and put him over therail in the middle watch of a dark night, two days before wesighted the Shetland lights.

"Well, I kept my knowledge tomyself and waited to see what would come of it. When we gotback to Scotland it was easily hushed up, and nobody asked anyquestions. A stranger died by an accident, and it was nobody'sbusiness to inquire. Shortly after Peter Carey gave up the sea,and it was long years before I could find where he was. I guessed that he had done the deed for the sake of what was inthat tin box, and that he could afford now to pay me well forkeeping my mouth shut.

"I found out where he was through a sailor man that had met himin London, and down I went to squeeze him. The first night hewas reasonable enough, and was ready to give me what would makeme free of the sea for life. We were to fix it all two nightslater. When I came I found him three parts drunk and in a viletemper. We sat down and we drank and we yarned about old times,but the more he drank the less I liked the look on his face. I spotted that harpoon upon the wall, and I thought I mightneed it before I was through. Then at last he broke out at me,spitting and cursing, with murder in his eyes and a greatclasp-knife in his hand. He had not time to get it from thesheath before I had the harpoon through him. Heavens! whata yell he gave; and his face gets between me and my sleep! I stood there, with his blood splashing round me, and I waitedfor a bit; but all was quiet, so I took heart once more. I looked round, and there was the tin box on a shelf. I had asmuch right to it as Peter Carey, anyhow, so I took it with me andleft the hut. Like a fool I left my baccy-pouch upon the table.

"Now I'll tell you the queerest part of the whole story. I had hardly got outside the hut when I heard someone coming,and I hid among the bushes. A man came slinking along,went into the hut, gave a cry as if he had seen a ghost,and legged it as hard as he could run until he was out of sight. Who he was or what he wanted is more than I can tell. For my part I walked ten miles, got a train at Tunbridge Wells,and so reached London, and no one the wiser.

"Well, when I came to examine the box I found there was no moneyin it, and nothing but papers that I would not dare to sell. I had lost my hold on Black Peter, and was stranded in Londonwithout a shilling. There was only my trade left. I saw theseadvertisements about harpooners and high wages, so I went tothe shipping agents, and they sent me here. That's all I know,and I say again that if I killed Black Peter the law should giveme thanks, for I saved them the price of a hempen rope."

"A very clear statement," said Holmes, rising and lightinghis pipe. "I think, Hopkins, that you should lose no timein conveying your prisoner to a place of safety. This roomis not well adapted for a cell, and Mr. Patrick Cairns occupiestoo large a proportion of our carpet."

"Mr. Holmes," said Hopkins, "I do not know how to expressmy gratitude. Even now I do not understand how you attainedthis result."

"Simply by having the good fortune to get the right clue fromthe beginning. It is very possible if I had known about thisnote-book it might have led away my thoughts, as it did yours. But all I heard pointed in the one direction. The amazingstrength, the skill in the use of the harpoon, the rum andwater, the seal-skin tobacco-pouch, with the coarse tobacco --all these pointed to a seaman, and one who had been a whaler. I was convinced that the initials `P.C.' upon the pouch werea coincidence, and not those of Peter Carey, since he seldomsmoked, and no pipe was found in his cabin. You remember thatI asked whether whisky and brandy were in the cabin. You saidthey were. How many landsmen are there who would drink rum whenthey could get these other spirits? Yes, I was certain it wasa seaman."

"And how did you find him?"

"My dear sir, the problem had become a very simple one. If itwere a seaman, it could only be a seaman who had been with himon the SEA UNICORN. So far as I could learn he had sailed in noother ship. I spent three days in wiring to Dundee, and at theend of that time I had ascertained the names of the crew of theSEA UNICORN in 1883. When I found Patrick Cairns among theharpooners my research was nearing its end. I argued that theman was probably in London, and that he would desire to leavethe country for a time. I therefore spent some days in theEast-end, devised an Arctic expedition, put forth tempting termsfor harpooners who would serve under Captain Basil -- and beholdthe result!"

"Wonderful!" cried Hopkins. "Wonderful!"

"You must obtain the release of young Neligan as soon as possible,"said Holmes. "I confess that I think you owe him some apology. The tin box must be returned to him, but, of course, the securitieswhich Peter Carey has sold are lost for ever. There's the cab,Hopkins, and you can remove your man. If you want me for the trial,my address and that of Watson will be somewhere in Norway --I'll send particulars later."---------------------------------------------------------------

IT is years since the incidents of which I speak took place,and yet it is with diffidence that I allude to them. For a longtime, even with the utmost discretion and reticence, it wouldhave been impossible to make the facts public; but now theprincipal person concerned is beyond the reach of human law,and with due suppression the story may be told in such fashionas to injure no one. It records an absolutely unique experiencein the career both of Mr. Sherlock Holmes and of myself. Thereader will excuse me if I conceal the date or any other factby which he might trace the actual occurrence.

We had been out for one of our evening rambles, Holmes and I,and had returned about six o'clock on a cold, frosty winter'sevening. As Holmes turned up the lamp the light fell upona card on the table. He glanced at it, and then, with anejaculation of disgust, threw it on the floor. I picked it up and read:--

CHARLES AUGUSTUS MILVERTON, APPLEDORE TOWERS, AGENT. HAMPSTEAD.

"Who is he?" I asked.

"The worst man in London," Holmes answered, as he sat down andstretched his legs before the fire. "Is anything on the backof the card?"

I turned it over.

"Will call at 6.30 -- C.A.M.," I read.

"Hum! He's about due. Do you feel a creeping, shrinkingsensation, Watson, when you stand before the serpents in theZoo and see the slithery, gliding, venomous creatures, withtheir deadly eyes and wicked, flattened faces? Well, that's howMilverton impresses me. I've had to do with fifty murderers inmy career, but the worst of them never gave me the repulsionwhich I have for this fellow. And yet I can't get out of doingbusiness with him -- indeed, he is here at my invitation."

"But who is he?"

"I'll tell you, Watson. He is the king of all the blackmailers. Heaven help the man, and still more the woman, whose secret andreputation come into the power of Milverton. With a smilingface and a heart of marble he will squeeze and squeeze until hehas drained them dry. The fellow is a genius in his way, andwould have made his mark in some more savoury trade. His methodis as follows: He allows it to be known that he is prepared topay very high sums for letters which compromise people of wealthor position. He receives these wares not only from treacherousvalets or maids, but frequently from genteel ruffians who havegained the confidence and affection of trusting women. He deals with no niggard hand. I happen to know that he paidseven hundred pounds to a footman for a note two lines in length,and that the ruin of a noble family was the result. Everythingwhich is in the market goes to Milverton, and there are hundredsin this great city who turn white at his name. No one knowswhere his grip may fall, for he is far too rich and far toocunning to work from hand to mouth. He will hold a card backfor years in order to play it at the moment when the stake isbest worth winning. I have said that he is the worst man inLondon, and I would ask you how could one compare the ruffianwho in hot blood bludgeons his mate with this man, whomethodically and at his leisure tortures the soul and wringsthe nerves in order to add to his already swollen money-bags?"

I had seldom heard my friend speak with such intensity of feeling.

"But surely," said I, "the fellow must be within the graspof the law?"

"Technically, no doubt, but practically not. What would itprofit a woman, for example, to get him a few months'imprisonment if her own ruin must immediately follow? Hisvictims dare not hit back. If ever he blackmailed an innocentperson, then, indeed, we should have him; but he is as cunningas the Evil One. No, no; we must find other ways to fight him."

"And why is he here?"

"Because an illustrious client has placed her piteous casein my hands. It is the Lady Eva Brackwell, the most beautifulDEBUTANTE of last season. She is to be married in a fortnightto the Earl of Dovercourt. This fiend has several imprudentletters -- imprudent, Watson, nothing worse -- which werewritten to an impecunious young squire in the country. They would suffice to break off the match. Milverton will sendthe letters to the Earl unless a large sum of money is paid him. I have been commissioned to meet him, and -- to make the bestterms I can."

At that instant there was a clatter and a rattle in the streetbelow. Looking down I saw a stately carriage and pair, thebrilliant lamps gleaming on the glossy haunches of the noblechestnuts. A footman opened the door, and a small, stout manin a shaggy astrachan overcoat descended. A minute later hewas in the room.

Charles Augustus Milverton was a man of fifty, with a large,intellectual head, a round, plump, hairless face, a perpetualfrozen smile, and two keen grey eyes, which gleamed brightlyfrom behind broad, golden-rimmed glasses. There was somethingof Mr. Pickwick's benevolence in his appearance, marred only bythe insincerity of the fixed smile and by the hard glitter ofthose restless and penetrating eyes. His voice was as smoothand suave as his countenance, as he advanced with a plump littlehand extended, murmuring his regret for having missed us at hisfirst visit. Holmes disregarded the outstretched hand andlooked at him with a face of granite. Milverton's smilebroadened; he shrugged his shoulders, removed his overcoat,folded it with great deliberation over the back of a chair,and then took a seat.

"This gentleman?" said he, with a wave in my direction. "Is it discreet? Is it right?"

"Dr. Watson is my friend and partner."

"Very good, Mr. Holmes. It is only in your client's intereststhat I protested. The matter is so very delicate ----"

"Dr. Watson has already heard of it."

"Then we can proceed to business. You say that you are actingfor Lady Eva. Has she empowered you to accept my terms?"

"What are your terms?"

"Seven thousand pounds."

"And the alternative?"

"My dear sir, it is painful for me to discuss it; but if themoney is not paid on the 14th there certainly will be nomarriage on the 18th." His insufferable smile was morecomplacent than ever.

Holmes thought for a little.

"You appear to me," he said, at last, "to be taking matters toomuch for granted. I am, of course, familiar with the contentsof these letters. My client will certainly do what I mayadvise. I shall counsel her to tell her future husband thewhole story and to trust to his generosity."

Milverton chuckled.

"You evidently do not know the Earl," said he.

From the baffled look upon Holmes's face I could see clearlythat he did.

"What harm is there in the letters?" he asked.

"They are sprightly -- very sprightly," Milverton answered. "The lady was a charming correspondent. But I can assure youthat the Earl of Dovercourt would fail to appreciate them. However, since you think otherwise, we will let it rest at that. It is purely a matter of business. If you think that it is inthe best interests of your client that these letters shouldbe placed in the hands of the Earl, then you would indeed befoolish to pay so large a sum of money to regain them." He rose and seized his astrachan coat.

Holmes was grey with anger and mortification.

"Wait a little," he said. "You go too fast. We would certainlymake every effort to avoid scandal in so delicate a matter."

Milverton relapsed into his chair.

"I was sure that you would see it in that light," he purred.

"At the same time," Holmes continued, "Lady Eva is not a wealthywoman. I assure you that two thousand pounds would be a drainupon her resources, and that the sum you name is utterly beyondher power. I beg, therefore, that you will moderate yourdemands, and that you will return the letters at the price Iindicate, which is, I assure you, the highest that you can get."

Milverton's smile broadened and his eyes twinkled humorously.

"I am aware that what you say is true about the lady'sresources," said he. "At the same time, you must admit thatthe occasion of a lady's marriage is a very suitable time forher friends and relatives to make some little effort upon herbehalf. They may hesitate as to an acceptable wedding present. Let me assure them that this little bundle of letters would givemore joy than all the candelabra and butter-dishes in London."

"It is impossible," said Holmes.

"Dear me, dear me, how unfortunate!" cried Milverton, taking outa bulky pocket-book. "I cannot help thinking that ladies areill-advised in not making an effort. Look at this!" He held upa little note with a coat-of-arms upon the envelope. "Thatbelongs to -- well, perhaps it is hardly fair to tell the nameuntil to-morrow morning. But at that time it will be in thehands of the lady's husband. And all because she will not finda beggarly sum which she could get by turning her diamonds intopaste. It IS such a pity. Now, you remember the sudden end ofthe engagement between the Honourable Miss Miles and ColonelDorking? Only two days before the wedding there was aparagraph in the MORNING POST to say that it was all off. And why? It is almost incredible, but the absurd sum of twelvehundred pounds would have settled the whole question. Is it not pitiful? And here I find you, a man of sense,boggling about terms when your client's future and honour areat stake. You surprise me, Mr. Holmes."

"What I say is true," Holmes answered. "The money cannot befound. Surely it is better for you to take the substantial sumwhich I offer than to ruin this woman's career, which can profityou in no way?"

"There you make a mistake, Mr. Holmes. An exposure would profitme indirectly to a considerable extent. I have eight or tensimilar cases maturing. If it was circulated among them thatI had made a severe example of the Lady Eva I should find all ofthem much more open to reason. You see my point?"

Milverton had glided as quick as a rat to the side of the room,and stood with his back against the wall.

"Mr. Holmes, Mr. Holmes," he said, turning the front of his coatand exhibiting the butt of a large revolver, which projectedfrom the inside pocket. "I have been expecting you to dosomething original. This has been done so often, and what goodhas ever come from it? I assure you that I am armed to theteeth, and I am perfectly prepared to use my weapons, knowingthat the law will support me. Besides, your supposition thatI would bring the letters here in a note-book is entirelymistaken. I would do nothing so foolish. And now, gentlemen,I have one or two little interviews this evening, and it is along drive to Hampstead." He stepped forward, took up his coat,laid his hand on his revolver, and turned to the door. I pickedup a chair, but Holmes shook his head and I laid it down again. With bow, a smile, and a twinkle Milverton was out of the room,and a few moments after we heard the slam of the carriage doorand the rattle of the wheels as he drove away.

Holmes sat motionless by the fire, his hands buried deep in histrouser pockets, his chin sunk upon his breast, his eyes fixedupon the glowing embers. For half an hour he was silent andstill. Then, with the gesture of a man who has taken hisdecision, he sprang to his feet and passed into his bedroom. A little later a rakish young workman with a goatee beard and aswagger lit his clay pipe at the lamp before descending into thestreet. "I'll be back some time, Watson," said he, and vanishedinto the night. I understood that he had opened his campaignagainst Charles Augustus Milverton; but I little dreamed thestrange shape which that campaign was destined to take.

For some days Holmes came and went at all hours in this attire,but beyond a remark that his time was spent at Hampstead,and that it was not wasted, I knew nothing of what he was doing. At last, however, on a wild, tempestuous evening, when the windscreamed and rattled against the windows, he returned from hislast expedition, and having removed his disguise he sat beforethe fire and laughed heartily in his silent inward fashion.

"You would not call me a marrying man, Watson?"

"No, indeed!"

"You'll be interested to hear that I am engaged."

"My dear fellow! I congrat ----"

"To Milverton's housemaid."

"Good heavens, Holmes!"

"I wanted information, Watson."

"Surely you have gone too far?"

"It was a most necessary step. I am a plumber with a risingbusiness, Escott by name. I have walked out with her eachevening, and I have talked with her. Good heavens, those talks! However, I have got all I wanted. I know Milverton's house asI know the palm of my hand."

"But the girl, Holmes?"

He shrugged his shoulders.

"You can't help it, my dear Watson. You must play your cardsas best you can when such a stake is on the table. However,I rejoice to say that I have a hated rival who will certainlycut me out the instant that my back is turned. What a splendidnight it is!"

I had a catching of the breath, and my skin went cold at thewords, which were slowly uttered in a tone of concentratedresolution. As a flash of lightning in the night shows up inan instant every detail of a wide landscape, so at one glanceI seemed to see every possible result of such an action -- thedetection, the capture, the honoured career ending inirreparable failure and disgrace, my friend himself lying atthe mercy of the odious Milverton.

"For Heaven's sake, Holmes, think what you are doing," I cried.

"My dear fellow, I have given it every consideration. I amnever precipitate in my actions, nor would I adopt so energeticand indeed so dangerous a course if any other were possible. Let us look at the matter clearly and fairly. I suppose thatyou will admit that the action is morally justifiable, thoughtechnically criminal. To burgle his house is no more than toforcibly take his pocket-book -- an action in which you wereprepared to aid me."

I turned it over in my mind.

"Yes," I said; "it is morally justifiable so long as our objectis to take no articles save those which are used for an illegalpurpose."

"Exactly. Since it is morally justifiable I have only toconsider the question of personal risk. Surely a gentlemanshould not lay much stress upon this when a lady is in mostdesperate need of his help?"

"You will be in such a false position."

"Well, that is part of the risk. There is no other possible wayof regaining these letters. The unfortunate lady has not themoney, and there are none of her people in whom she couldconfide. To-morrow is the last day of grace, and unless we canget the letters to-night this villain will be as good as hisword and will bring about her ruin. I must, therefore, abandonmy client to her fate or I must play this last card. Betweenourselves, Watson, it's a sporting duel between this fellowMilverton and me. He had, as you saw, the best of the firstexchanges; but my self-respect and my reputation are concernedto fight it to a finish."

"Well, I don't like it; but I suppose it must be," said I. "When do we start?"

"You are not coming."

"Then you are not going," said I. "I give you my word of honour-- and I never broke it in my life -- that I will take a cabstraight to the police-station and give you away unless you letme share this adventure with you."

"You can't help me."

"How do you know that? You can't tell what may happen. Anyway, my resolution is taken. Other people beside youhave self-respect and even reputations."

Holmes had looked annoyed, but his brow cleared, and he clappedme on the shoulder.

"Well, well, my dear fellow, be it so. We have shared thesame room for some years, and it would be amusing if we endedby sharing the same cell. You know, Watson, I don't mindconfessing to you that I have always had an idea that I wouldhave made a highly efficient criminal. This is the chance of mylifetime in that direction. See here!" He took a neat littleleather case out of a drawer, and opening it he exhibiteda number of shining instruments. "This is a first-class,up-to-date burgling kit, with nickel-plated jemmy, diamond-tippedglass-cutter, adaptable keys, and every modern improvement whichthe march of civilization demands. Here, too, is my dark lantern. Everything is in order. Have you a pair of silent shoes?"

"I have rubber-soled tennis shoes."

"Excellent. And a mask?"

"I can make a couple out of black silk."

"I can see that you have a strong natural turn for this sortof thing. Very good; do you make the masks. We shall have somecold supper before we start. It is now nine-thirty. At elevenwe shall drive as far as Church Row. It is a quarter of anhour's walk from there to Appledore Towers. We shall be at workbefore midnight. Milverton is a heavy sleeper and retirespunctually at ten-thirty. With any luck we should be back hereby two, with the Lady Eva's letters in my pocket."

Holmes and I put on our dress-clothes, so that we mightappear to be two theatre-goers homeward bound. In Oxford Streetwe picked up a hansom and drove to an address in Hampstead. Here we paid off our cab, and with our great-coats buttoned up,for it was bitterly cold and the wind seemed to blow through us,we walked along the edge of the Heath.

"It's a business that needs delicate treatment," said Holmes. "These documents are contained in a safe in the fellow's study,and the study is the ante-room of his bed-chamber. On the otherhand, like all these stout, little men who do themselves well,he is a plethoric sleeper. Agatha -- that's my FIANCEE -- saysit is a joke in the servants' hall that it's impossible to wakethe master. He has a secretary who is devoted to his interestsand never budges from the study all day. That's why we aregoing at night. Then he has a beast of a dog which roams thegarden. I met Agatha late the last two evenings, and she locksthe brute up so as to give me a clear run. This is the house,this big one in its own grounds. Through the gate -- now tothe right among the laurels. We might put on our masks here,I think. You see, there is not a glimmer of light in any ofthe windows, and everything is working splendidly."

With our black silk face-coverings, which turned us into two ofthe most truculent figures in London, we stole up to the silent,gloomy house. A sort of tiled veranda extended along one sideof it, lined by several windows and two doors.

"That's his bedroom," Holmes whispered. "This door opensstraight into the study. It would suit us best, but it isbolted as well as locked, and we should make too much noisegetting in. Come round here. There's a greenhouse whichopens into the drawing-room."

The place was locked, but Holmes removed a circle of glass andturned the key from the inside. An instant afterwards he hadclosed the door behind us, and we had become felons in the eyesof the law. The thick, warm air of the conservatory and therich, choking fragrance of exotic plants took us by the throat. He seized my hand in the darkness and led me swiftly past banksof shrubs which brushed against our faces. Holmes hadremarkable powers, carefully cultivated, of seeing in the dark. Still holding my hand in one of his he opened a door, and I wasvaguely conscious that we had entered a large room in which acigar had been smoked not long before. He felt his way amongthe furniture, opened another door, and closed it behind us. Putting out my hand I felt several coats hanging from the wall,and I understood that I was in a passage. We passed along it,and Holmes very gently opened a door upon the right-hand side. Something rushed out at us and my heart sprang into my mouth,but I could have laughed when I realized that it was the cat. A fire was burning in this new room, and again the air was heavywith tobacco smoke. Holmes entered on tiptoe, waited for meto follow, and then very gently closed the door. We were inMilverton's study, and a PORTIERE at the farther side showedthe entrance to his bedroom.

It was a good fire, and the room was illuminated by it. Near the door I saw the gleam of an electric switch, but itwas unnecessary, even if it had been safe, to turn it on. At one side of the fireplace was a heavy curtain, which coveredthe bay window we had seen from outside. On the other side wasthe door which communicated with the veranda. A desk stood in thecentre, with a turning chair of shining red leather. Oppositewas a large bookcase, with a marble bust of Athene on the top. In the corner between the bookcase and the wall there stood atall green safe, the firelight flashing back from the polishedbrass knobs upon its face. Holmes stole across and looked atit. Then he crept to the door of the bedroom, and stood withslanting head listening intently. No sound came from within. Meanwhile it had struck me that it would be wise to secure ourretreat through the outer door, so I examined it. To myamazement it was neither locked nor bolted! I touched Holmeson the arm, and he turned his masked face in that direction. I saw him start, and he was evidently as surprised as I.

"I don't like it," he whispered, putting his lips to my very ear."I can't quite make it out. Anyhow, we have no time to lose."

"Can I do anything?"

"Yes; stand by the door. If you hear anyone come, bolt iton the inside, and we can get away as we came. If they comethe other way, we can get through the door if our job is done,or hide behind these window curtains if it is not. Do youunderstand?"

I nodded and stood by the door. My first feeling of fear hadpassed away, and I thrilled now with a keener zest than I hadever enjoyed when we were the defenders of the law instead ofits defiers. The high object of our mission, the consciousnessthat it was unselfish and chivalrous, the villainous characterof our opponent, all added to the sporting interest of theadventure. Far from feeling guilty, I rejoiced and exultedin our dangers. With a glow of admiration I watched Holmesunrolling his case of instruments and choosing his tool with thecalm, scientific accuracy of a surgeon who performs a delicateoperation. I knew that the opening of safes was a particularhobby with him, and I understood the joy which it gave him to beconfronted with this green and gold monster, the dragon whichheld in its maw the reputations of many fair ladies. Turning upthe cuffs of his dress-coat -- he had placed his overcoat on achair -- Holmes laid out two drills, a jemmy, and severalskeleton keys. I stood at the centre door with my eyes glancingat each of the others, ready for any emergency; though, indeed,my plans were somewhat vague as to what I should do if we wereinterrupted. For half an hour Holmes worked with concentratedenergy, laying down one tool, picking up another, handling eachwith the strength and delicacy of the trained mechanic. FinallyI heard a click, the broad green door swung open, and insideI had a glimpse of a number of paper packets, each tied, sealed,and inscribed. Holmes picked one out, but it was hard to readby the flickering fire, and he drew out his little dark lantern,for it was too dangerous, with Milverton in the next room, toswitch on the electric light. Suddenly I saw him halt, listenintently, and then in an instant he had swung the door of thesafe to, picked up his coat, stuffed his tools into the pockets,and darted behind the window curtain, motioning me to do the same.

It was only when I had joined him there that I heard what hadalarmed his quicker senses. There was a noise somewhere withinthe house. A door slammed in the distance. Then a confused,dull murmur broke itself into the measured thud of heavyfootsteps rapidly approaching. They were in the passage outsidethe room. They paused at the door. The door opened. There wasa sharp snick as the electric light was turned on. The doorclosed once more, and the pungent reek of a strong cigar wasborne to our nostrils. Then the footsteps continued backwardsand forwards, backwards and forwards, within a few yards of us. Finally, there was a creak from a chair, and the footsteps ceased. Then a key clicked in a lock and I heard the rustle of papers.

So far I had not dared to look out, but now I gently parted thedivision of the curtains in front of me and peeped through. From the pressure of Holmes's shoulder against mine I knewthat he was sharing my observations. Right in front of us,and almost within our reach, was the broad, rounded back ofMilverton. It was evident that we had entirely miscalculatedhis movements, that he had never been to his bedroom, but thathe had been sitting up in some smoking or billiard room in thefarther wing of the house, the windows of which we had not seen. His broad, grizzled head, with its shining patch of baldness,was in the immediate foreground of our vision. He was leaningfar back in the red leather chair, his legs outstretched, a longblack cigar projecting at an angle from his mouth. He wore asemi-military smoking jacket, claret-coloured, with a blackvelvet collar. In his hand he held a long legal document, whichhe was reading in an indolent fashion, blowing rings of tobaccosmoke from his lips as he did so. There was no promise of aspeedy departure in his composed bearing and his comfortableattitude.

I felt Holmes's hand steal into mine and give me a reassuringshake, as if to say that the situation was within his powers andthat he was easy in his mind. I was not sure whether he hadseen what was only too obvious from my position, that the doorof the safe was imperfectly closed, and that Milverton might atany moment observe it. In my own mind I had determined that ifI were sure, from the rigidity of his gaze, that it had caughthis eye, I would at once spring out, throw my great-coatover his head, pinion him, and leave the rest to Holmes. But Milverton never looked up. He was languidly interestedby the papers in his hand, and page after page was turned as hefollowed the argument of the lawyer. At least, I thought, whenhe has finished the document and the cigar he will go to hisroom; but before he had reached the end of either there camea remarkable development which turned our thoughts into quiteanother channel.

Several times I had observed that Milverton looked at hiswatch, and once he had risen and sat down again, with a gestureof impatience. The idea, however, that he might have anappointment at so strange an hour never occurred to me untila faint sound reached my ears from the veranda outside. Milverton dropped his papers and sat rigid in his chair. The sound was repeated, and then there came a gentle tapat the door. Milverton rose and opened it.

"Well," said he, curtly, "you are nearly half an hour late."

So this was the explanation of the unlocked door and of thenocturnal vigil of Milverton. There was the gentle rustle ofa woman's dress. I had closed the slit between the curtains asMilverton's face had turned in our direction, but now I venturedvery carefully to open it once more. He had resumed his seat,the cigar still projecting at an insolent angle from the cornerof his mouth. In front of him, in the full glare of theelectric light, there stood a tall, slim, dark woman, a veilover her face, a mantle drawn round her chin. Her breath camequick and fast, and every inch of the lithe figure was quiveringwith strong emotion.

"Well, if you couldn't you couldn't. If the Countess is ahard mistress you have your chance to get level with her now. Bless the girl, what are you shivering about? That's right! Pull yourself together! Now, let us get down to business." He took a note from the drawer of his desk. "You say thatyou have five letters which compromise the Countess d'Albert. You want to sell them. I want to buy them. So far so good. It only remains to fix a price. I should want to inspect theletters, of course. If they are really good specimens ---Great heavens, is it you?"

The woman without a word had raised her veil and dropped themantle from her chin. It was a dark, handsome, clear-cut facewhich confronted Milverton, a face with a curved nose, strong,dark eyebrows shading hard, glittering eyes, and a straight,thin-lipped mouth set in a dangerous smile.

"It is I," she said; "the woman whose life you have ruined."

Milverton laughed, but fear vibrated in his voice. "You wereso very obstinate," said he. "Why did you drive me to suchextremities? I assure you I wouldn't hurt a fly of my ownaccord, but every man has his business, and what was I to do? I put the price well within your means. You would not pay."

"So you sent the letters to my husband, and he -- the noblestgentleman that ever lived, a man whose boots I was never worthyto lace -- he broke his gallant heart and died. You rememberthat last night when I came through that door I begged andprayed you for mercy, and you laughed in my face as you aretrying to laugh now, only your coward heart cannot keep yourlips from twitching? Yes, you never thought to see me hereagain, but it was that night which taught me how I could meetyou face to face, and alone. Well, Charles Milverton, what haveyou to say?"

"Don't imagine that you can bully me," said he, rising tohis feet. "I have only to raise my voice, and I could callmy servants and have you arrested. But I will make allowancefor your natural anger. Leave the room at once as you came,and I will say no more."

The woman stood with her hand buried in her bosom, and the samedeadly smile on her thin lips.

"You will ruin no more lives as you ruined mine. You will wringno more hearts as you wrung mine. I will free the world of apoisonous thing. Take that, you hound, and that! -- and that!-- and that!"

She had drawn a little, gleaming revolver, and emptied barrelafter barrel into Milverton's body, the muzzle within two feetof his shirt front. He shrank away and then fell forward uponthe table, coughing furiously and clawing among the papers. Then he staggered to his feet, received another shot, and rolledupon the floor. "You've done me," he cried, and lay still. The woman looked at him intently and ground her heel into hisupturned face. She looked again, but there was no sound ormovement. I heard a sharp rustle, the night air blew into theheated room, and the avenger was gone.

No interference upon our part could have saved the man fromhis fate; but as the woman poured bullet after bullet intoMilverton's shrinking body I was about to spring out, when Ifelt Holmes's cold, strong grasp upon my wrist. I understoodthe whole argument of that firm, restraining grip -- that it wasno affair of ours; that justice had overtaken a villain; that wehad our own duties and our own objects which were not to be lostsight of. But hardly had the woman rushed from the room whenHolmes, with swift, silent steps, was over at the other door. He turned the key in the lock. At the same instant we heardvoices in the house and the sound of hurrying feet. Therevolver shots had roused the household. With perfect coolnessHolmes slipped across to the safe, filled his two arms withbundles of letters, and poured them all into the fire. Againand again he did it, until the safe was empty. Someone turnedthe handle and beat upon the outside of the door. Holmes lookedswiftly round. The letter which had been the messenger of deathfor Milverton lay, all mottled with his blood, upon the table. Holmes tossed it in among the blazing papers. Then he drew thekey from the outer door, passed through after me, and locked iton the outside. "This way, Watson," said he; "we can scale thegarden wall in this direction."

I could not have believed that an alarm could have spread soswiftly. Looking back, the huge house was one blaze of light. The front door was open, and figures were rushing down thedrive. The whole garden was alive with people, and one fellowraised a view-halloa as we emerged from the veranda and followedhard at our heels. Holmes seemed to know the ground perfectly,and he threaded his way swiftly among a plantation of smalltrees, I close at his heels, and our foremost pursuer pantingbehind us. It was a six-foot wall which barred our path, but hesprang to the top and over. As I did the same I felt the handof the man behind me grab at my ankle; but I kicked myself freeand scrambled over a glass-strewn coping. I fell upon my faceamong some bushes; but Holmes had me on my feet in an instant,and together we dashed away across the huge expanse of HampsteadHeath. We had run two miles, I suppose, before Holmes at lasthalted and listened intently. All was absolute silence behind us. We had shaken off our pursuers and were safe.

We had breakfasted and were smoking our morning pipe on theday after the remarkable experience which I have recorded whenMr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard, very solemn and impressive,was ushered into our modest sitting-room.

"Good morning, Mr. Holmes," said he; "good morning. May I ask if you are very busy just now?"

"Not too busy to listen to you."

"I thought that, perhaps, if you had nothing particular on hand,you might care to assist us in a most remarkable case whichoccurred only last night at Hampstead."

"Dear me!" said Holmes. "What was that?"

"A murder -- a most dramatic and remarkable murder. I know howkeen you are upon these things, and I would take it as a greatfavour if you would step down to Appledore Towers and give usthe benefit of your advice. It is no ordinary crime. We havehad our eyes upon this Mr. Milverton for some time, and, betweenourselves, he was a bit of a villain. He is known to have heldpapers which he used for blackmailing purposes. These papershave all been burned by the murderers. No article of value wastaken, as it is probable that the criminals were men of goodposition, whose sole object was to prevent social exposure."

"Criminals!" said Holmes. "Plural!"

"Yes, there were two of them. They were, as nearly as possible,captured red-handed. We have their foot-marks, we have theirdescription; it's ten to one that we trace them. The firstfellow was a bit too active, but the second was caught by theunder-gardener and only got away after a struggle. He was amiddle-sized, strongly-built man -- square jaw, thick neck,moustache, a mask over his eyes."

"That's rather vague," said Sherlock Holmes. "Why, it might be a description of Watson!"

"It's true," said the inspector, with much amusement. "It might be a description of Watson."

"Well, I am afraid I can't help you, Lestrade," said Holmes. "The fact is that I knew this fellow Milverton, that Iconsidered him one of the most dangerous men in London, and thatI think there are certain crimes which the law cannot touch,and which therefore, to some extent, justify private revenge. No, it's no use arguing. I have made up my mind. My sympathiesare with the criminals rather than with the victim, and I willnot handle this case."

Holmes had not said one word to me about the tragedy which wehad witnessed, but I observed all the morning that he was in hismost thoughtful mood, and he gave me the impression, from hisvacant eyes and his abstracted manner, of a man who is strivingto recall something to his memory. We were in the middle of ourlunch when he suddenly sprang to his feet. "By Jove, Watson;I've got it!" he cried. "Take your hat! Come with me!" He hurried at his top speed down Baker Street and along OxfordStreet, until we had almost reached Regent Circus. Here on theleft hand there stands a shop window filled with photographs ofthe celebrities and beauties of the day. Holmes's eyes fixedthemselves upon one of them, and following his gaze I saw thepicture of a regal and stately lady in Court dress, with a highdiamond tiara upon her noble head. I looked at thatdelicately-curved nose, at the marked eyebrows, at the straightmouth, and the strong little chin beneath it. Then I caught mybreath as I read the time-honoured title of the great noblemanand statesman whose wife she had been. My eyes met those of Holmes,and he put his finger to his lips as we turned away from the window.---------------------------------------------------------------

IT was no very unusual thing for Mr. Lestrade, of Scotland Yard,to look in upon us of an evening, and his visits were welcome toSherlock Holmes, for they enabled him to keep in touch with allthat was going on at the police head-quarters. In return forthe news which Lestrade would bring, Holmes was always ready tolisten with attention to the details of any case upon which thedetective was engaged, and was able occasionally, without anyactive interference, to give some hint or suggestion drawn fromhis own vast knowledge and experience.

On this particular evening Lestrade had spoken of the weatherand the newspapers. Then he had fallen silent, puffingthoughtfully at his cigar. Holmes looked keenly at him.

"Anything remarkable on hand?" he asked.

"Oh, no, Mr. Holmes, nothing very particular."

"Then tell me about it."

Lestrade laughed.

"Well, Mr. Holmes, there is no use denying that there ISsomething on my mind. And yet it is such an absurd businessthat I hesitated to bother you about it. On the other hand,although it is trivial, it is undoubtedly queer, and I know thatyou have a taste for all that is out of the common. But in myopinion it comes more in Dr. Watson's line than ours."

"Disease?" said I.

"Madness, anyhow. And a queer madness too! You wouldn't thinkthere was anyone living at this time of day who had such ahatred of Napoleon the First that he would break any image ofhim that he could see."

Holmes sank back in his chair.

"That's no business of mine," said he.

"Exactly. That's what I said. But then, when the man commitsburglary in order to break images which are not his own, thatbrings it away from the doctor and on to the policeman."

Holmes sat up again.

"Burglary! This is more interesting. Let me hear the details."

Lestrade took out his official note-book and refreshed hismemory from its pages.

"The first case reported was four days ago," said he. "It wasat the shop of Morse Hudson, who has a place for the sale ofpictures and statues in the Kennington Road. The assistant hadleft the front shop for an instant when he heard a crash, andhurrying in he found a plaster bust of Napoleon, which stoodwith several other works of art upon the counter, lying shiveredinto fragments. He rushed out into the road, but, althoughseveral passers-by declared that they had noticed a man run outof the shop, he could neither see anyone nor could he find anymeans of identifying the rascal. It seemed to be one of thosesenseless acts of Hooliganism which occur from time to time,and it was reported to the constable on the beat as such. The plaster cast was not worth more than a few shillings,and the whole affair appeared to be too childish for anyparticular investigation.

"The second case, however, was more serious and also moresingular. It occurred only last night.

"In Kennington Road, and within a few hundred yards of MorseHudson's shop, there lives a well-known medical practitioner,named Dr. Barnicot, who has one of the largest practices uponthe south side of the Thames. His residence and principalconsulting-room is at Kennington Road, but he has a branchsurgery and dispensary at Lower Brixton Road, two miles away. This Dr. Barnicot is an enthusiastic admirer of Napoleon, andhis house is full of books, pictures, and relics of the FrenchEmperor. Some little time ago he purchased from Morse Hudsontwo duplicate plaster casts of the famous head of Napoleon bythe French sculptor, Devine. One of these he placed in hishall in the house at Kennington Road, and the other on themantelpiece of the surgery at Lower Brixton. Well, when Dr.Barnicot came down this morning he was astonished to find thathis house had been burgled during the night, but that nothinghad been taken save the plaster head from the hall. It had beencarried out and had been dashed savagely against the gardenwall, under which its splintered fragments were discovered."

Holmes rubbed his hands.

"This is certainly very novel," said he.

"I thought it would please you. But I have not got to the endyet. Dr. Barnicot was due at his surgery at twelve o'clock,and you can imagine his amazement when, on arriving there,he found that the window had been opened in the night, and thatthe broken pieces of his second bust were strewn all over the room. It had been smashed to atoms where it stood. In neither casewere there any signs which could give us a clue as to thecriminal or lunatic who had done the mischief. Now, Mr. Holmes,you have got the facts."

"They are singular, not to say grotesque," said Holmes. "May I ask whether the two busts smashed in Dr. Barnicot'srooms were the exact duplicates of the one which was destroyedin Morse Hudson's shop?"

"They were taken from the same mould."

"Such a fact must tell against the theory that the man whobreaks them is influenced by any general hatred of Napoleon. Considering how many hundreds of statues of the great Emperormust exist in London, it is too much to suppose such acoincidence as that a promiscuous iconoclast should chanceto begin upon three specimens of the same bust."

"Well, I thought as you do," said Lestrade. "On the other hand,this Morse Hudson is the purveyor of busts in that part ofLondon, and these three were the only ones which had been in hisshop for years. So, although, as you say, there are manyhundreds of statues in London, it is very probable that thesethree were the only ones in that district. Therefore, a localfanatic would begin with them. What do you think, Dr. Watson?"

"There are no limits to the possibilities of monomania,"I answered. "There is the condition which the modern Frenchpsychologists have called the `idee fixe,' which may be triflingin character, and accompanied by complete sanity in every otherway. A man who had read deeply about Napoleon, or who hadpossibly received some hereditary family injury through thegreat war, might conceivably form such an `idee fixe' and underits influence be capable of any fantastic outrage."

"That won't do, my dear Watson," said Holmes, shaking his head;"for no amount of `idee fixe' would enable your interestingmonomaniac to find out where these busts were situated."

"Well, how do YOU explain it?"

"I don't attempt to do so. I would only observe that there is acertain method in the gentleman's eccentric proceedings. Forexample, in Dr. Barnicot's hall, where a sound might arouse thefamily, the bust was taken outside before being broken, whereasin the surgery, where there was less danger of an alarm, it wassmashed where it stood. The affair seems absurdly trifling, andyet I dare call nothing trivial when I reflect that some of mymost classic cases have had the least promising commencement. You will remember, Watson, how the dreadful business of theAbernetty family was first brought to my notice by the depthwhich the parsley had sunk into the butter upon a hot day. I can't afford, therefore, to smile at your three broken busts,Lestrade, and I shall be very much obliged to you if you willlet me hear of any fresh developments of so singular a chainof events."

The development for which my friend had asked came in a quickerand an infinitely more tragic form than he could have imagined. I was still dressing in my bedroom next morning when there wasa tap at the door and Holmes entered, a telegram in his hand. He read it aloud:--

"Come instantly, 131, Pitt Street, Kensington. -- Lestrade."

"What is it, then?" I asked.

"Don't know -- may be anything. But I suspect it is thesequel of the story of the statues. In that case our friend,the image-breaker, has begun operations in another quarter ofLondon. There's coffee on the table, Watson, and I have a cabat the door."

In half an hour we had reached Pitt Street, a quiet littlebackwater just beside one of the briskest currents of Londonlife. No. 131 was one of a row, all flat-chested, respectable,and most unromantic dwellings. As we drove up we found therailings in front of the house lined by a curious crowd. Holmes whistled.

"By George! it's attempted murder at the least. Nothing lesswill hold the London message-boy. There's a deed of violenceindicated in that fellow's round shoulders and outstretchedneck. What's this, Watson? The top steps swilled down and theother ones dry. Footsteps enough, anyhow! Well, well, there'sLestrade at the front window, and we shall soon know all about it."

The official received us with a very grave face and showed usinto a sitting-room, where an exceedingly unkempt and agitatedelderly man, clad in a flannel dressing-gown, was pacing up anddown. He was introduced to us as the owner of the house --Mr. Horace Harker, of the Central Press Syndicate.

"It's the Napoleon bust business again," said Lestrade. "You seemed interested last night, Mr. Holmes, so I thoughtperhaps you would be glad to be present now that the affairhas taken a very much graver turn."

"What has it turned to, then?"

"To murder. Mr. Harker, will you tell these gentlemen exactlywhat has occurred?"

The man in the dressing-gown turned upon us with a mostmelancholy face.

"It's an extraordinary thing," said he, "that all my life I havebeen collecting other people's news, and now that a real pieceof news has come my own way I am so confused and bothered thatI can't put two words together. If I had come in here as ajournalist I should have interviewed myself and had two columnsin every evening paper. As it is I am giving away valuable copyby telling my story over and over to a string of different people,and I can make no use of it myself. However, I've heard your name,Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and if you'll only explain this queer businessI shall be paid for my trouble in telling you the story."

Holmes sat down and listened.

"It all seems to centre round that bust of Napoleon which Ibought for this very room about four months ago. I picked it upcheap from Harding Brothers, two doors from the High StreetStation. A great deal of my journalistic work is done at night,and I often write until the early morning. So it was to-day. I was sitting in my den, which is at the back of the top of thehouse, about three o'clock, when I was convinced that I heardsome sounds downstairs. I listened, but they were not repeated,and I concluded that they came from outside. Then suddenly,about five minutes later, there came a most horrible yell -- themost dreadful sound, Mr. Holmes, that ever I heard. It willring in my ears as long as I live. I sat frozen with horror fora minute or two. Then I seized the poker and went downstairs. When I entered this room I found the window wide open, and I atonce observed that the bust was gone from the mantelpiece. Why any burglar should take such a thing passes my understanding,for it was only a plaster cast and of no real value whatever.

"You can see for yourself that anyone going out through thatopen window could reach the front doorstep by taking a longstride. This was clearly what the burglar had done, so I wentround and opened the door. Stepping out into the dark I nearlyfell over a dead man who was lying there. I ran back for alight, and there was the poor fellow, a great gash in his throatand the whole place swimming in blood. He lay on his back, hisknees drawn up, and his mouth horribly open. I shall see him inmy dreams. I had just time to blow on my police-whistle, andthen I must have fainted, for I knew nothing more until I foundthe policeman standing over me in the hall."

"Well, who was the murdered man?" asked Holmes.

"There's nothing to show who he was," said Lestrade. "You shallsee the body at the mortuary, but we have made nothing of it upto now. He is a tall man, sunburned, very powerful, not morethan thirty. He is poorly dressed, and yet does not appear tobe a labourer. A horn-handled clasp knife was lying in a poolof blood beside him. Whether it was the weapon which did thedeed, or whether it belonged to the dead man, I do not know. There was no name on his clothing, and nothing in his pocketssave an apple, some string, a shilling map of London, and aphotograph. Here it is."

It was evidently taken by a snap-shot from a small camera. It represented an alert, sharp-featured simian man with thickeyebrows, and a very peculiar projection of the lower part ofthe face like the muzzle of a baboon.

"And what became of the bust?" asked Holmes, after a carefulstudy of this picture.

"We had news of it just before you came. It has been foundin the front garden of an empty house in Campden House Road. It was broken into fragments. I am going round now to see it. Will you come?"

"Certainly. I must just take one look round." He examined thecarpet and the window. "The fellow had either very long legs orwas a most active man," said he. "With an area beneath, it wasno mean feat to reach that window-ledge and open that window.Getting back was comparatively simple. Are you coming with usto see the remains of your bust, Mr. Harker?"

The disconsolate journalist had seated himself at a writing-table.

"I must try and make something of it," said he, "though I haveno doubt that the first editions of the evening papers are outalready with full details. It's like my luck! You rememberwhen the stand fell at Doncaster? Well, I was the onlyjournalist in the stand, and my journal the only one that hadno account of it, for I was too shaken to write it. And nowI'll be too late with a murder done on my own doorstep."

As we left the room we heard his pen travelling shrilly overthe foolscap.

The spot where the fragments of the bust had been found was onlya few hundred yards away. For the first time our eyes restedupon this presentment of the great Emperor, which seemed toraise such frantic and destructive hatred in the mind of theunknown. It lay scattered in splintered shards upon thegrass. Holmes picked up several of them and examined themcarefully. I was convinced from his intent face and hispurposeful manner that at last he was upon a clue.

"Well?" asked Lestrade.

Holmes shrugged his shoulders.

"We have a long way to go yet," said he. "And yet -- and yet --well, we have some suggestive facts to act upon. The possessionof this trifling bust was worth more in the eyes of thisstrange criminal than a human life. That is one point. Then there is the singular fact that he did not break it in thehouse, or immediately outside the house, if to break it was hissole object."

"He was rattled and bustled by meeting this other fellow. He hardly knew what he was doing."

"Well, that's likely enough. But I wish to call your attentionvery particularly to the position of this house in the gardenof which the bust was destroyed."

Lestrade looked about him.

"It was an empty house, and so he knew that he would not bedisturbed in the garden."

"Yes, but there is another empty house farther up the streetwhich he must have passed before he came to this one. Why didhe not break it there, since it is evident that every yard thathe carried it increased the risk of someone meeting him?"

"I give it up," said Lestrade.

Holmes pointed to the street lamp above our heads.

"He could see what he was doing here and he could not there.That was his reason."

"By Jove! that's true," said the detective. "Now that I come tothink of it, Dr. Barnicot's bust was broken not far from his redlamp. Well, Mr. Holmes, what are we to do with that fact?"

"To remember it -- to docket it. We may come on somethinglater which will bear upon it. What steps do you proposeto take now, Lestrade?"

"The most practical way of getting at it, in my opinion, is toidentify the dead man. There should be no difficulty aboutthat. When we have found who he is and who his associates are,we should have a good start in learning what he was doing inPitt Street last night, and who it was who met him and killedhim on the doorstep of Mr. Horace Harker. Don't you think so?"

"No doubt; and yet it is not quite the way in which I shouldapproach the case."

"What would you do, then?"

"Oh, you must not let me influence you in any way! I suggestthat you go on your line and I on mine. We can compare notesafterwards, and each will supplement the other."

"Very good," said Lestrade.

"If you are going back to Pitt Street you might see Mr. HoraceHarker. Tell him from me that I have quite made up my mind,and that it is certain that a dangerous homicidal lunatic withNapoleonic delusions was in his house last night. It will beuseful for his article."

Lestrade stared.

"You don't seriously believe that?"

Holmes smiled.

"Don't I? Well, perhaps I don't. But I am sure that it willinterest Mr. Horace Harker and the subscribers of the CentralPress Syndicate. Now, Watson, I think that we shall find thatwe have a long and rather complex day's work before us. I should be glad, Lestrade, if you could make it convenient tomeet us at Baker Street at six o'clock this evening. Until thenI should like to keep this photograph found in the dead man'spocket. It is possible that I may have to ask your company andassistance upon a small expedition which will have be undertakento-night, if my chain of reasoning should prove to be correct. Until then, good-bye and good luck!"

Sherlock Holmes and I walked together to the High Street, wherehe stopped at the shop of Harding Brothers, whence the bust hadbeen purchased. A young assistant informed us that Mr. Hardingwould be absent until after noon, and that he was himself anewcomer who could give us no information. Holmes's faceshowed his disappointment and annoyance.

"Well, well, we can't expect to have it all our own way,Watson," he said, at last. "We must come back in the afternoonif Mr. Harding will not be here until then. I am, as you haveno doubt surmised, endeavouring to trace these busts to theirsource, in order to find if there is not something peculiarwhich may account for their remarkable fate. Let us make forMr. Morse Hudson, of the Kennington Road, and see if he canthrow any light upon the problem."

A drive of an hour brought us to the picture-dealer'sestablishment. He was a small, stout man with a red faceand a peppery manner.

"Yes, sir. On my very counter, sir," said he. "What we payrates and taxes for I don't know, when any ruffian can come inand break one's goods. Yes, sir, it was I who sold Dr. Barnicothis two statues. Disgraceful, sir! A Nihilist plot, that'swhat I make it. No one but an Anarchist would go about breakingstatues. Red republicans, that's what I call 'em. Who did Iget the statues from? I don't see what that has to do with it. Well, if you really want to know, I got them from Gelder and Co.,in Church Street, Stepney. They are a well-known house in thetrade, and have been this twenty years. How many had I? Three -- two and one are three -- two of Dr. Barnicot's and onesmashed in broad daylight on my own counter. Do I know thatphotograph? No, I don't. Yes, I do, though. Why, it's Beppo. He was a kind of Italian piece-work man, who made himself usefulin the shop. He could carve a bit and gild and frame, and doodd jobs. The fellow left me last week, and I've heard nothingof him since. No, I don't know where he came from nor where hewent to. I have nothing against him while he was here. He wasgone two days before the bust was smashed."

"Well, that's all we could reasonably expect to get from MorseHudson," said Holmes, as we emerged from the shop. "We have thisBeppo as a common factor, both in Kennington and in Kensington,so that is worth a ten-mile drive. Now, Watson, let us makefor Gelder and Co., of Stepney, the source and origin of busts. I shall be surprised if we don't get some help down there."

In rapid succession we passed through the fringe of fashionableLondon, hotel London, theatrical London, literary London,commercial London, and, finally, maritime London, till we cameto a riverside city of a hundred thousand souls, where thetenement houses swelter and reek with the outcasts of Europe.Here, in a broad thoroughfare, once the abode of wealthy Citymerchants, we found the sculpture works for which we searched.Outside was a considerable yard full of monumental masonry.Inside was a large room in which fifty workers were carving ormoulding. The manager, a big blond German, received us civilly,and gave a clear answer to all Holmes's questions. A referenceto his books showed that hundreds of casts had been taken froma marble copy of Devine's head of Napoleon, but that the threewhich had been sent to Morse Hudson a year or so before had beenhalf of a batch of six, the other three being sent to HardingBrothers, of Kensington. There was no reason why those sixshould be different to any of the other casts. He couldsuggest no possible cause why anyone should wish to destroythem -- in fact, he laughed at the idea. Their wholesale pricewas six shillings, but the retailer would get twelve or more. The cast was taken in two moulds from each side of the face, andthen these two profiles of plaster of Paris were joined togetherto make the complete bust. The work was usually done byItalians in the room we were in. When finished the busts wereput on a table in the passage to dry, and afterwards stored.That was all he could tell us.

But the production of the photograph had a remarkable effectupon the manager. His face flushed with anger, and his browsknotted over his blue Teutonic eyes.

"Ah, the rascal!" he cried. "Yes, indeed, I know him very well.This has always been a respectable establishment, and the onlytime that we have ever had the police in it was over this veryfellow. It was more than a year ago now. He knifed anotherItalian in the street, and then he came to the works with thepolice on his heels, and he was taken here. Beppo was hisname -- his second name I never knew. Serve me right forengaging a man with such a face. But he was a good workman,one of the best."

"What did he get?"

"The man lived and he got off with a year. I have no doubt he isout now; but he has not dared to show his nose here. We have acousin of his here, and I dare say he could tell you where he is."

"No, no," cried Holmes, "not a word to the cousin -- not a word,I beg you. The matter is very important, and the farther I gowith it the more important it seems to grow. When you referredin your ledger to the sale of those casts I observed that thedate was June 3rd of last year. Could you give me the date whenBeppo was arrested?"

"I could tell you roughly by the pay-list," the manageranswered. "Yes," he continued, after some turning over ofpages, "he was paid last on May 20th."

"Thank you," said Holmes. "I don't think that I need intrudeupon your time and patience any more." With a last word ofcaution that he should say nothing as to our researches weturned our faces westward once more.

The afternoon was far advanced before we were able to snatcha hasty luncheon at a restaurant. A news-bill at the entranceannounced "Kensington Outrage. Murder by a Madman," and thecontents of the paper showed that Mr. Horace Harker had got hisaccount into print after all. Two columns were occupied witha highly sensational and flowery rendering of the whole incident.Holmes propped it against the cruet-stand and read it while he ate. Once or twice he chuckled.

"This is all right, Watson," said he. "Listen to this:`It is satisfactory to know that there can be no differenceof opinion upon this case, since Mr. Lestrade, one of the mostexperienced members of the official force, and Mr. SherlockHolmes, the well-known consulting expert, have each come to theconclusion that the grotesque series of incidents, which haveended in so tragic a fashion, arise from lunacy rather than fromdeliberate crime. No explanation save mental aberration cancover the facts.' The Press, Watson, is a most valuableinstitution if you only know how to use it. And now, if youhave quite finished, we will hark back to Kensington and seewhat the manager of Harding Brothers has to say to the matter."

The founder of that great emporium proved to be a brisk,crisp little person, very dapper and quick, with a clear headand a ready tongue.

"Yes, sir, I have already read the account in the eveningpapers. Mr. Horace Harker is a customer of ours. We suppliedhim with the bust some months ago. We ordered three busts ofthat sort from Gelder and Co., of Stepney. They are all sold now. To whom? Oh, I dare say by consulting our sales book we couldvery easily tell you. Yes, we have the entries here. One toMr. Harker, you see, and one to Mr. Josiah Brown, of LaburnumLodge, Laburnum Vale, Chiswick, and one to Mr. Sandeford, ofLower Grove Road, Reading. No, I have never seen this facewhich you show me in the photograph. You would hardly forgetit, would you, sir, for I've seldom seen an uglier. Have we anyItalians on the staff? Yes, sir, we have several among ourworkpeople and cleaners. I dare say they might get a peep atthat sales book if they wanted to. There is no particularreason for keeping a watch upon that book. Well, well, it's avery strange business, and I hope that you'll let me know ifanything comes of your inquiries."

Holmes had taken several notes during Mr. Harding's evidence,and I could see that he was thoroughly satisfied by the turnwhich affairs were taking. He made no remark, however, savethat, unless we hurried, we should be late for our appointmentwith Lestrade. Sure enough, when we reached Baker Street thedetective was already there, and we found him pacing up and downin a fever of impatience. His look of importance showed thathis day's work had not been in vain.

"Well?" he asked. "What luck, Mr. Holmes?"

"We have had a very busy day, and not entirely a wasted one,"my friend explained. "We have seen both the retailers and alsothe wholesale manufacturers. I can trace each of the busts nowfrom the beginning."

"The busts!" cried Lestrade. "Well, well, you have your ownmethods, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, and it is not for me to say aword against them, but I think I have done a better day's workthan you. I have identified the dead man."

"You don't say so?"

"And found a cause for the crime."

"Splendid!"

"We have an inspector who makes a specialty of Saffron Hill andthe Italian quarter. Well, this dead man had some Catholicemblem round his neck, and that, along with his colour, made methink he was from the South. Inspector Hill knew him the momenthe caught sight of him. His name is Pietro Venucci, from Naples, and he is one of the greatest cut-throats in London. He is connected with the Mafia, which, as you know, is a secretpolitical society, enforcing its decrees by murder. Now yousee how the affair begins to clear up. The other fellow isprobably an Italian also, and a member of the Mafia. He hasbroken the rules in some fashion. Pietro is set upon his track. Probably the photograph we found in his pocket is the manhimself, so that he may not knife the wrong person. He dogsthe fellow, he sees him enter a house, he waits outside for him,and in the scuffle he receives his own death-wound. How is that,Mr. Sherlock Holmes?"

Holmes clapped his hands approvingly.

"Excellent, Lestrade, excellent!" he cried. "But I didn't quitefollow your explanation of the destruction of the busts."

"The busts! You never can get those busts out of your head.After all, that is nothing; petty larceny, six months at the most. It is the murder that we are really investigating, and I tellyou that I am gathering all the threads into my hands."

"And the next stage?"

"Is a very simple one. I shall go down with Hill to the Italianquarter, find the man whose photograph we have got, and arresthim on the charge of murder. Will you come with us?"

"I think not. I fancy we can attain our end in a simpler way. I can't say for certain, because it all depends -- well, it alldepends upon a factor which is completely outside our control.But I have great hopes -- in fact, the betting is exactly twoto one -- that if you will come with us to-night I shall be ableto help you to lay him by the heels."

"In the Italian quarter?"

"No; I fancy Chiswick is an address which is more likely to findhim. If you will come with me to Chiswick to-night, Lestrade,I'll promise to go to the Italian quarter with you to-morrow,and no harm will be done by the delay. And now I think that afew hours' sleep would do us all good, for I do not propose toleave before eleven o'clock, and it is unlikely that we shallbe back before morning. You'll dine with us, Lestrade, and thenyou are welcome to the sofa until it is time for us to start. In the meantime, Watson, I should be glad if you would ring foran express messenger, for I have a letter to send, and it isimportant that it should go at once."

Holmes spent the evening in rummaging among the files of theold daily papers with which one of our lumber-rooms was packed. When at last he descended it was with triumph in his eyes,